It Had To Be You
by Jac Danvers
Summary: On the run from the SSR, Howard Stark assumed several identities with varying degrees of success. Alright, with no success. Because Angie Martinelli did not suffer fools lightly. Or, five times Howard Stark gave Angie Martinelli a false name, and one time he found out that he didn't know her's at all. Starkinelli


**Disclaimer: Like I could afford to own even a portion of the Marvel universe. Agent Cater is not mine! This story quotes the play _Joan of Lorraine _by Maxwell Anderson, which debuted in 1946, and mentions the China Rose and Bellevue Hospital, two actual locations in Manhattan at the time. **

**I really love this fandom, and my fiance and I are obsessed with this show! I've loved all the Cartinelli fics I've read so far- it's such a fun pairing- so I'm not really sure where this story or pairing came from. I'm also not really sure how this story ended up so long. But hopefully you enjoy the story! I had a lot of fun with Stark and Angie- I modeled Angie both on the character on TV and my gram who grew up in Queens during WWII. She's a sassy lady, who I fully anticipate will hit anyone who misbehaves at my wedding with her cane this summer. **

**Finally, I started this story prior to _A Sin To Err _(episode 6). I've tried to incorporate some aspects of episode 6 into this story, but essentially, it should be considered AU post-episode 5. **

* * *

Angie Martinelli hated doing laundry. She hated it even more on a Saturday night. All thanks to Dottie, who had gone and stolen her laundry time in the afternoon. Now she was stuck at the Griffith instead of eating chop suey and snuggling up to one of the handsome vets out at the China Doll on 51st and Broadway. But she couldn't stay mad at Dottie- who could, with her sweet as a peach Midwestern can-do attitude?

Dottie never went out. Tonight was a first, and Angie couldn't begrudge her that. Even if she was having a grand old time at the dance hall, while Angie lugged around three tons of laundry.

And it wouldn't be bad, but Peggy was nowhere to be found, so she was stuck here, with _Miriam _of all people, and a bottle of peach schnapps she'd stolen from the Automat when her boss gave her a stern lecture for "getting fresh" with a customer who pinched her behind one too many times.

"Oye," she mumbled, bouncing up the last two steps into her corridor, heading for the dumbwaiter that contained her pile of work uniforms and threadbare skirts that were at least a year out of style. "Next weekend." She reached for the wooden doors, pulling them open.

"Miss me doll?"

She jumped back in surprise, swallowing a scream. God help her if Miriam heard the ruckus and came running.

"You are _not _Peggy," the man in the dumbwaiter stated.

"Clearly," she responded, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

_What the hell is Peg thinking? She saw what happened to Molly! Poor girl is jumping from boarding house to boarding house. _

Unfolding himself from the tiny box, the man ran a hand through his hair, staring at himself in the metal that framed the dumbwaiter to make sure it was slicked back and that his clothes were straight. He was dressed sharply- it was clear he hadn't been shopping in a second-hand store. He turned back to her, eyes looking her over carefully from head to toe, pausing on her breasts. "You know where Peggy went, gorgeous?"

"No. Where's my laundry?"

"In the laundry room," he replied, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

She was going to strangle this guy and Peggy.

Well, maybe not Peg. She was the closest thing she had to a best friend here in Manhattan. But this guy? This guy was going down, just as soon as she figured out…

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" Angie asked, certain she'd seen this guy's face before. The diner maybe? Or one of the many failed auditions she'd attended the past few months?

The man grinned broadly, "I'm Ho—"

"He's my cousin!"

Peggy looked exhausted, almost out of breathe- probably from running upstairs from the basement in heels once she loaded her cousin in the dumbwaiter. "He's my cousin, Eustace," she repeated, shooting a steely-eyed glance at the man. "I'll run down and get your laundry for you, Angie. I'm so sorry."

Angie shrugged, managing somehow to keep her eyebrows from raising in disbelief. _Cousin… really Peg? _The two looked nothing alike. Plus, hadn't Peg said she was from an old, proud, entirely British family that one time they'd stepped out to the diner on 73rd? Seemed pretty unlikely that she'd have a rogue American cousin running about.

Still, unable to stay mad at her friend, she replied, "No sweat, English. It's just me and the schnapps tonight. I take it you'll be busy?"

"I can free up my schedule if you like," the man chimed in, openly leering.

"I'd rather have a root canal," Angie snapped back. Turning back to Peggy she smiled. "You're hands are full. I'll get the laundry. Just don't get caught ok?"

Peggy smiled gratefully, firmly grasping her "cousin" by the ear and dragging him back to her room. As she turned to head back downstairs to get her laundry, she caught him starring at her behind, shooting one last wink in her direction.

As she walked down the stairs, one thought passed through Angie's mind.

_Definitely the root canal._

OOO

"Oh Jack!" a cry emerged down the hallway, followed by a loud giggle.

Howard Stark had to go.

Sure, she couldn't place his mug at first, but it was pretty obvious that he wasn't related to Peg. It wasn't until the morning after their first run-in, between filling coffee cups and wondering how many cheap bozos were going to stiff her on tips, that she'd seen his picture on the front of the newspaper, under the main headline.

** FUGITIVE MILLIONAIRE REPORTEDLY BACK IN THE STATES**.

Angie wasn't one to ask questions (okay, she absolutely was), but she wanted to grab Peg by the shoulders, shake her once or twice, and ask her what on earth she'd been thinking. She had no idea how Peg knew Howard Stark- from their brief talks, she knew more had happened to Peg than the woman cared to admit during the war- but Angie knew for a fact that Peg wouldn't hide a simultaneously brilliant and idiotic fugitive in her room for no good reason. And given Peg's tendency to close in on herself whenever romance was mentioned, she definitely wasn't sleeping with him.

No. No, that would be everyone else on their floor.

"Jack! You know I'm not that type of girl!"

_Yes Sarah. Yes, you are. _

Lord knows how Miriam hadn't caught him yet. They were all doomed the day her seemingly psychic ability to detect men on the upper floors kicked back in. And there was no way Angie could take the train back to Queens with a pile of failed dreams and the dollar in tips she had saved up. She owed her parents more than that.

That day was drawing nearer, Angie was sure. Because when Peg ran out an hour ago, Stark had slipped into Sarah's room… and Sarah was not a quiet girl.

Ignoring the impassioned shouts from two doors down, Angie focused on the script before her. _Joan of Lorraine. _It had been a hit down in Washington D.C., with Ingrid Bergman starring as Joan of Arc. Rumor had it the star wasn't going to make the move to New York. Girls were lining up by the dozen for the chance to stand in _Ingrid stinkin' Bergman's_ shoes, and by God, she wasn't going to let her chance at stardom pass her by.

Or her fifty-third chance. But who was counting?

"You devil!"

Would Sarah ever learn to keep her mouth shut? Miriam had to be out doing the weekly shopping, because otherwise, the woman would have been up here toot-sweet, pounding on the door, demanding answers.

"Oh, if I could speak large and round like a boy, and could stand that way and make my words sound out like a trumpet," Angie spoke into the mirror, analyzing every facial expression as she'd been taught. Remembering the books she'd read at the New York Public Library earlier that week, she tried to embody Joan in every way. This role was going to be hers. "But I'm a girl, and my voice is a girl's voice, and my ways are a girl's—"

"My name isn't Lorraine!" Sarah shouted angrily in the distance.

With a growl of frustration, Angie kept rehearsing, voice strong and steady. "-ways. If only I were a man! If only I could shout like a man!"

"GET OUT!"

"But that wouldn't help either!" she continued, her annoyance at Stark fueling each word she spoke.

"I SAID GET OUT!"

Louder and louder, trying to block out the noises surrounding her, Angie finished the monologue. "It will be ridiculous, it will sound foolish, but in the name of God, I must try—"

"You talkin' to yourself dollface?"

She nearly jumped out of her skin, knocking her dressing table and sending the makeup and perfume bottles flying. "What are you doing here, Stark?" she said, not even pretending that he was Peg's cousin.

"Pshh. Stark? Who's Stark? That inventor on the run?" He moved into the room, closing the door behind him. He was smirking, completely incapable of keeping a straight face. "Please, sister, I'm much more attractive than Howard Stark. The names Jack Sheehan."

"Oh yeah?" Angie shot back, surprised as the idiots gall. "And I'm Olivia De Havilland. Nice to meet you again, _Eustace._ Now get out of my room."

He almost looked taken aback- like rejection didn't exist in his fantasy world of high-tech gadgets and mountains of money. "Aww don't be that way, sweetheart."

Slamming her script down on the table, Angie stalked up to him "Don't you sweetheart me, Stark. You listen and you listen good. I don't know why you're hiding out with Peg, and frankly, I don't care. But Peg is my friend. Knowing her like I do, she would never say this herself, because she's a sweet girl. I'll say it though- no skin off my teeth. I will _not _let you take advantage of Peg's kindness so you can charm your way through all the girls in the Griffith hotel. Every day you're here, you're risking our livelihoods, our homes. It must be nice being able to float from place to place without a care in the world. But for the girls here? This is all we got, Stark. One strike and we're out. And some of us don't have bags of money that can bail us out of the gutter. Some of us have families that depend on us. So the next time I see you, it better be the back of your head walking away from this building and not coming back. Capiche?"

He looked on the verge of laughing, but had the decency to mask it quickly and pretend to be appropriately chagrined. "Crystal clear, Miss Martinelli." Moving back to the door, he cracked it open, peering to make sure the coast was clear. "I'll be seeing you."

"Not in this lifetime."

He smirked one more time, giving her a once over. "That's ok. I like a challenge." He quickly stepped out of the room, dodging the script that was flying at his head.

She felt breathless. Absolutely breathless. As angry as stark made her, she almost considered thanking him. She knew how she would play Joan of Arc now: filled with righteous fury. Retrieving the book from where it landed near the door, she grabbed the handle, ready to follow the man out.

_Get it together, Martinelli_, she thought with a laugh.

It'd go straight to his head.

OOO

"Angie, honey, you know I like my coffee with two sugars. This is too sweet. Fix it." She braced herself, knowing the pinch was coming. Mr. Evans, a slovenly, balding, middle-aged businessman, was, unfortunately, a regular. Every morning, it was the same story: order a coffee, find something to complain about, send her off to the kitchen with a pinch on the behind, and a slap for "gratitude" when she returned.

"Sure thing," she said, trying to stay perky as she headed back to the kitchen.

"She's lucky I leave her a tip," the man muttered across the table to his business associate. "Have to explain how to make my coffee every damn morning."

Pushing through the doors to the kitchen, Angie wanted to scream or cry- she wasn't sure which one first. Normally she could hold it together, just deal with the jerk. Not everyone who came to the Automat was a jerk- honestly, it was just a select few high and mighty idiots that thought they owned the world. But the _Joan of Lorraine _audition yesterday had been a disaster- she hadn't even made it to the stage to perform her monologue when the casting director gave her the hook.

"Kid, you don't have the face of a heroine. Shoot for the chorus, and thank God if you even make it that far."

She slammed the coffee onto the counter, liquid splattering across the metal. _Damnit._

"Sorry Clyde, I'll clean it up," she apologized to the cook, standing a few feet away easily flipping pancakes with one hand while tossing bacon into a pan with the other.

"No sweat Ang. What's buzzin'? That Evans again?" Clyde asked, sweetheart that he was. He was a recent hire who had just moved north with his family from South Carolina after returning from the war.

"You know it. A royal pain if I've ever seen one." She pulled down a clean mug to prepare the fresh coffee.

Clyde grabbed her hand. "Go. Take a breather. Pretend we had to brew some more coffee. Mr. Mills ain't here this morning- had a meeting with some hoity-toity businessmen so he can expand the restaurant."

Peering out the window to make sure no new customers had entered, she slipped through the back door, plopping herself down on the carton Clyde used for his cigarette breaks. Resting her head against the wall, she blinked back tears. She was stronger than this, was meant for more than this. She was going to make it out of this diner and onto the stage if it killed her.

She wasn't sure how long she'd sat there before she heard a voice asked, "Need a smoke, Martinelli?"

She didn't jump. Though she hadn't heard the voice in nearly two weeks, Angie knew exactly who it was. "Why are you here Stark?"

"I came to apologize," he said, taking a seat next to her, feet sprawled out in front of him, arm thrown around her shoulder. "And the name's Ed Colburn. Got a license and everything." He smiled broadly, pulling the small scrap of paper out of his wallet.

"And I got a piece of paper declaring me the next queen of England," Angie replied tersely, looking the paper over. It was a good forgery, she'd give him that. Howard Stark could afford it, after all. "So Peg told you where I work? What's she doing, sending you on an apology tour?"

He laughed. "Nah. This is all me. Figured I owed you one. A legitimate one. I shouldn't have put you at risk of losing your home." She felt her eyes widen in surprise. Of all the reasons he'd show up, she hadn't expected that.

The door opened. "Ang, we got customers," Clyde called. He took another look at Stark. "He botherin' you?" She shook her head, and Clyde returned to the kitchen.

Stark offered a hand, and though she eyed it suspiciously, she took it. "Well I for one can't wait to hear what an apology from the great Howard Stark- I'm sorry _Ed Colburn- _sounds like. Go grab a stool at the counter. I'll bring you a coffee."

Stepping through the kitchen, she gave Clyde a grateful smile and poured two cups of coffee. Dropping one off with Stark, she headed back to Evans. "Sorry for the wait. I brewed some fresh coffee for you. Only the best for my best customers." She gritted her teeth as the words came out, struggling not to roll her eyes.

Evan's took a sip of the coffee. "Not half bad, Angie. Just make sure you get our breakfast order right."

"Of course Mr. Evans. It should be up shortly." Turning around she felt his hand connect with her ass, cringing.

"Hey!" she heard from the counter.

_Oh no. No, no, no. _

"You messin' with my girl, chrome dome?" Stark asked, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her close. Angie flopped forward like a dead fish, unsure of what to do with her hands. She settled on wrapping them around his neck. Oh this was not how she wanted the morning to go.

Mr. Evans raised his hands in surrender. "Didn't know she was yours, friend. Say, aren't you…"

"Colburn. Ed Colburn." He let go of her, pulling a business card out of his wallet and handing it to the other man. Because _of course _he had fake business cards. "I'd appreciate it if you kept your hands off her. Otherwise we'll be taking it up with the boys in blue down at the station. Grew up with quite a few of them- they owe me a favor or five. You got that?"

Evans seemed to accept the lie, looking more concerned about the cops- not that they could do anything- than that this man looked like Howard Stark. "Clear as crystal, Mr. Colburn. And I apologize for the mistake."

"Ain't me you should be apologizing to," Stark replied, nodding toward Angie.

The man looked shocked. "I… I apologize, Angie. I believe the coffee will be all for us today." Gulping down his beverage, he tossed the payment on the table, dragging his friend out behind him.

Pulling away from Stark, Angie collected the money from the table. "He always like that?"

She shrugged, picking up the empty cups and heading back behind the counter. "Got a few regulars that like to get handsy. Not like I can say anything about it. Already mouthed off one too many times. I'm out of a job next time I do."

Angie turned to see Stark staring at her- not even a hint of laughter in his eyes. It was almost disconcerting. "'S not right."

"Says the man who talks to my tits three-quarters of the time." She smiled, though she was only half joking.

Still, Stark brightened up. "Such language out of a young lady! Besides, I look, but I won't touch." He paused. "At least, not until you bring me home to the Griffith."

This time she couldn't help but laugh. "You can only dream of that day, Stark."

"Colburn!" he corrected as the chimes above the front door rang.

Dottie stumbled in, looking pretty as a daisy someone plucked out of the cornfields. "Angie! Just the girl I was looking for. I was hoping you might help me find this office building. They have a job opening." She took a seat at the far end of the counter.

"Sure, I'll grab you a coffee Dot." Turning back to Stark she added, "And once I'm done with her, I want to hear this whole 'apology' thing."

Darting into the kitchen, she cancelled Evans's order with Clyde, taking the coffee and eggs that were already prepared out for Dottie as a treat. As she emerged through the doors, she discovered Stark was gone, a crisp 100 dollar bill sitting on the counter.

Angie rolled her eyes, wondering how she hadn't already guess what a Stark apology was.

OOO

"Maria Angela Martinelli, you gotta tell me what's going on. Dad… well dad's catatonic. He's back in the hospital, and ma's worried sick. I'm stuck lyin' to her about why I had to rent a car and get it across the Queensboro in rush hour on Friday. They just can't take any more hits right now. Kid, if you're in trouble, you gotta talk to me," her brother spoke into the phone, voice garbled by the static.

Working the late shift at the diner had its advantages, namely, getting sole use of the phone to call her family. At least she didn't have to wait in line behind Lorraine's forty minute phone call to her man of the hour or Dottie's endless conversations with every extended family member back in Iowa.

"It's complicated, Michael, I told you that." Angie replied with a sigh, rubbing her forehead. It was news to her that her father was back in the hospital. He hadn't been the same since he got back from Europe, experiencing these spells that no doctor could explain. "I just… she wasn't who I thought she was."

"Your friend Peg?" Mike asked. "What happened, exactly?"

"I don't know! One minute I'm filling out the paper work for secretary school, the next she's on the balcony. Then these agents burst in—"

"Agents? Federal agents? Ang, what was Peg involved in? You gotta be honest with me."

"_I don't know."_ She paused, wondering how much she ought to reveal. Mike was four years older, her only sibling. When he'd been in the Pacific, she'd written him three times a week, and now they spoke at least twice. He knew all her secrets, would keep them 'til the grave. "Mike, she knows Howard Stark."

There was silence on the line.

"He was hiding out in her room at the Griffith for a couple of days, 'til I confronted him. And he showed up at the Automat two weeks ago. Mike I-"

"You're coming home, Angie."

She felt her jaw drop. "Michael no! I'm fine! Just let things settle-"

"Settle down? Angela, how long were you living next door to a dangerous fugitive that _sold our secrets to the Russians?"_

"He didn't do anything Mike. I don't think he's guilty. I think… I think Peg is helping him." From the kitchen, she heard a crash of metal hitting the floor. Jimmy, the evening cook, must have forgotten something.

"Pack your things, kid, I'm bringing you home tomorrow."

"No Mike-"

"You think I'm gonna let you stay there? Angie, your life could be in danger!"

Like hell she was going home. "What was that Mike? I can't hear you over the static."

"Maria," he said, using her given name, a tone of warning in his voice. She could never fool Mike. From the kitchen, Howard Stark's head popped out.

God, he was piss-poor at hiding.

"My boss is back, he forgot something. I'll talk to you later Mike."

"Maria-"

She slammed the phone down feeling overwhelmed. How long had it been since life felt normal? When her biggest concern was preparing for the next audition between shifts at the Automat and paying her father's hospital bills? Things had been so out of control since Howard Stark showed up.

Speaking of which…

"So I'm your boss now? Well that's good enough. Ed Colburn didn't last more than a week before the SSR got word. What's his name? I'll make myself some new business cards," Stark said bitterly. He looked exhausted- dark circles under his eyes, mussed hair, clothes disheveled. He'd been out of the Griffith for nearly a month now, and last time he showed up, she hadn't asked where he was staying. "Never mind."

"You all right, Stark?" Angie asked quietly, concerned.

"It's Carl Flemming, doll." He tried to pull off a smirk and a leer, but failed. "I should be asking you that, Martinelli. Heard the SSR boys paid you a visit. They didn't bother you, did they? Anyone I should get fired once my name gets cleared?" He paused, looking absolutely desolate. "If my name gets cleared."

"How could they bother me? It's not like I've ever been introduced to Howard Stark, and they didn't ask about a fugitive named Carl Flemming," she said with a wink, trying and succeeding in drawing a half-smile on his face. And though she didn't know exactly what an SSR was, she was quickly able to figure out what he meant. "They didn't bother me. I covered for Peg, for all that it helped. They've got her locked up."

"I know," he said sliding into a booth, burying his head in his arms. She flipped off the kitchen lights, dimming the restaurant considerably, and slipped into the booth across from him. "I never thought… you gotta believe me, Angie, I never thought I'd get her in this deep. Any of us in this deep. My butler Jarvis- he's been helping her- is down at the SSR office trying to break her out, and I can't do a damn thing to help. And lord knows, I dragged you into this too. If they ever found out that I've made contact with you…"

Angie kicked him under the table, forcing him to look up at her. "Listen up, Stark. For whatever insane reason, I happen to believe you're innocent. Peg's a big girl, and though I have no idea what all she's wrapped up in, she'll be alright. Right now, all you can do is find yourself a hotel room, clean yourself up, and be ready to show up on the front page when Peg clears your name. Here," she grabbed a napkin and the pen out of her apron. "This is the restaurant number. You find a place and call me tomorrow while I'm working. When this is all over, I'll give you the all clear."

He folded the napkin, tucking it into the breast pocket on his shirt. "When this is all over, I'm taking you out for a drink Martinelli."

"Don't flatter yourself, _Flemming_," she replied. "I only date millionaires."

"I think I got a few dollars floating around," he said, his trademark smirk finally appearing. For a moment, it felt like everything was going to be ok.

Behind her, she heard a knock on the door. Peering over her shoulder, Angie saw Dottie at the door, waving incessantly with a broad smile on her face. "That's one of the girls from the Griffith. I better see what she wants. You mind sneaking out the back?"

"I'll call you when I find a place."

She nodded, watching as he slipped into the kitchen. Angie flipped the lock on the door, allowing Dottie in. "I got a job! I was hoping you'd wanna go down to the China Rose tonight. Half-price chop suey and a celebration!" Dottie asked, the excitement in her voice evident.

Angie smiled, not wanting to reveal her worries to the perpetually positive girl. "Congratulations! I'd love to Dot! Just have to finish up a few things here."

"New boyfriend?" Dottie asked, nodding her head in the direction that Stark had just left. She must have seen him sneaking out.

"Oh no. Co-worker," she replied vaguely, turning back to the last few tables she had to wash before she left.

"Liar," she heard Dottie say behind her.

Angie didn't even get to reply.

The pain lasted only a moment, and her entire world went black.

OOO

Well that was certainly a twist in the plot.

Angie knew she should be panicking more, considering she was currently tied up in the kitchen of the Automat, hands bound behind her back, Howard Stark tied up just a few feet away. They were surrounded by a variety of sharp objects that could be used to kill them. Not to mention sweet little farm girl Dottie was pointing a gun at her head. But really, where was the good in panicking?

Who knew a girl from small town Iowa would be fluent in Russian? Or that a Russian could play a small town Iowa girl so well?

Alright. Maybe she was panicking.

"I want answers, Angela. Leviathan wants answers. I saw Stark visiting you when he was hiding out in Agent Carter's room. And he's been paying you visits here at the restaurant. Are you helping Carter? Where is the vial?" Dottie looked nearly deranged, her finger brushing the trigger of the pistol.

"The name ain't Stark, sister. I told you, you grabbed the wrong guy! The name's Sam Goldman. I just look like Stark. Only taller. And better looking."

She didn't know what possessed her to chime in. It could have been that she was still processing everything Dottie had just said- Agent Carter, a vial, Leviathan- _holy hell, what did I get myself into?_ It could have been her impending death, or even that the last two people she was going to see before she died were a deranged Russian spy and the man who single-handedly made her contemplate joining a nunnery. But she burst out, "It's true! He's my boyfriend. Sam. We met-"

Dottie sniffed in disdain. "Oh don't give me that line, Angela. You're not _that_ good an actress."

Well _that _was uncalled for.

"Hey. Leave her alone, she had nothing to do with this," Stark replied, anger permeating his tone. "Let her go, she ain't gonna talk. Are you Ang?"

"I swear I won't, Dot. It can go back to how it was be—"

"WOULD YOU TWO STOP IT!" Dottie shrieked, stamping forward. Angie felt all her breathe leave her as Dottie grabbed her neck, squeezing hard. It hurt, it hurt so badly, and she couldn't breathe. Twisting and turning, her binds kept her from escaping. Even if her hands were free, Angie didn't think she'd be able to escape Dottie's grip. Black spots appeared before her eyes, and she could feel each pristinely painted red nail on Dottie's hand digging into her skin. The throbbing in her head increased where Dottie had hit her.

This was it.

God, she hoped Peg and Howard destroyed Dottie after she was gone.

As she closed her eyes, she heard footsteps hitting the floor…

…and she gasped for air as the hand fell away. As she slowly regained her bearings, she watched as Dottie flew across one of the counters, landing in a heap against the rack of pots and hands. "You alright Martinelli?" she heard Stark ask, attempting to roll his shoulder where he'd made impact with Dot.

"'M fine," Angie responded, pulling the utensil drawer open with her teeth. Propping her chin on top, she pulled herself up so that she was standing. She had to find something to remove the ropes around her wrists if they were going to get out of here. Glancing at Stark, she saw Dottie stand, moving towards the man as if nothing had happened. Easily leaping onto a counter top, Dottie launched herself at Stark, sending them both to the ground. "Stark!"

"You see the gun?" Stark asked, pulling himself back up and ducking the punch Dottie threw.

She glanced around quickly. "Left foot!"

Dottie dove for the gun, but Stark kicked it away toward Angie.

_Damn, damn, damn… _

She couldn't pick up the gun, so she kicked it again, sending it flying under the refrigerator. Eyes scanning the utensil drawer, she turned so that she could grab a serrated steak knife. It cut into her hands as she propped it up, the serrated edge facing her, allowing her to slowly but surely start cutting into the rope that bound her wrists. "You bitch!" Dottie shrieked, shoving Stark aside. She sprinted across the room, thin arm easily reaching under the fridge to grab the gun. From the corner of her eye, Angie could see that Stark wasn't moving. Moving her hands faster, she felt the ropes start to give way, blood dripping down her hands where the knife had cut skin.

It was too late.

Gun in hand, Dottie stalked toward Angie, shooting daggers with her eyes. "You see, Angela, there's no way you and him get out of here alive. Even if I died, Leviathan would find you. And they _would _find you." Dottie paused momentarily. Feeling the ropes start to fall away, Angie knew she was close. If Dottie prattled on just a few seconds longer she might stand a chance…

"Lucky for you, it's me with the gun. My colleagues are… well they're the sadistic type." She cocked the gun. "It'll be quick. Goodbye, Angie."

It happened too fast for Angie to really comprehend what was going on. As the ropes fell off her wrist, she grabbed the bloody steak knife, throwing herself at Dotty. She heard the gun go off- so loud that she was pretty sure she'd be permanently deaf in at least one ear- as she plunged the knife into Dotty's shoulder. The woman screamed, shoving Angie off her. As the door slammed open, Angie's head hit the side of the metal cabinet and her world went black again.

OOO

"I can't believe they're lettin' you go home already, Ang. Two hits to the head, you were nearly choked to death, and a gunshot wound to the shoulder. Kid, I didn't see that much action in the Philippines," Mike said, shoveling the last of the cafeteria applesauce into his mouth. Tossing the small cup into a trash bin, he turned to her. "You gonna finish yours?"

"Yes! Jesus, Michael, it's like no one's ever fed you," Angie replied, exasperated. As nice as it was having Mike around, she was ready to head back to her room at the Griffith and enjoy some peace, quiet, and recovery. The lump on her head had gone down, the hand-shaped bruises on her neck were yellowing, her wrists were scabbed over where the steak knife had broken the skin, and her right arm was in a sling to keep her from moving her shoulder, where she'd been shot- practically a clear bill of health.

"I'm a growing boy, Ang," he pouted, opening the stairwell door so they could step back onto her floor and finish packing her room. She still had leftover chocolates from Jimmy and Clyde, while Miriam and the girls at the Griffith, Peggy, and the SSR agents that had stampeded the Automat had sent three enormous flower arrangements- lord knows where she was going to put them, but she appreciated the thought nonetheless. She hadn't heard anything from Stark, but she doubted her brother, the bodyguard, would have let him anywhere near her. Despite seeing in the newspapers that his name had been cleared, Mike still held the man directly responsible for Angie's injuries, though apparently he'd given Peggy a piece of his mind the first time she visited.

"You're twenty-eight, Mike. Don't be a knucklehead."

As they approached the nurse's station, she saw a dark haired man dressed in a business suit. He was loaded down with a pile of gifts- whoever he knew must have been important- and in the middle of an argument with Nurse Selmy, a middle-aged motherly woman who had given her a long lecture about getting involved with the wrong sort as soon as she regained consciousness.

"Nah, I know she's here. Angela. A-N-G-E-L-A. Martinelli. They call her Angie."

"I'm sorry sir, I have a Martinelli on record, but not by that name," Nurse Selmy replied. "Is the patient expecting you?"

The man sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. As he turned, she caught view of the familiar profile. Stark.

"'Course not. Should have thought about that. Can you check again? Please? It's Angela-"

"No it's not," Angie chimed in with a smile. "But then again, you've never actually admitted your real name to me, either. So fair's fair."

Stark jumped in surprise at her voice, before a broad grin spread across his face. "Martinelli. You look like crap."

"Well Bellevue ain't exactly a fancy dress ball," she replied with a smile of her own.

"Who is this guy, Ang?" Mike asked, looking suspiciously between the two.

"Yeah, who exactly are you?" she asked, eyebrows raised, baiting him entirely. He looked at her briefly, puppy dog eyes begging her not to make him do it. In an instant, she knew how Stark had managed to land all of Hollywood's screen queens- not that she was being suckered in, mind you.

He held out his hand to Mike. "The name's Howard Stark."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he stumbled backwards about five steps, the impact of Mike's fist sending him flying. "Yeah, I probably deserved that," Stark muttered.

"None of that here, boys. This is a place of healing, not of injury," Nurse Selmy called from the desk.

"I wanted to get here earlier," Stark explained nervously- almost awkwardly, though she thought her ears might be deceiving her. "And then I didn't know what to get you, so I asked Jarvis." He handed her the pile of gifts- flowers, three types of chocolate, a teddy bear… and tea?

She held up the box, looking at him questioningly. Stark shrugged. "Jarvis is British."

"Can you go finish packing up, Mike?" Angie asked, handing him the pile. "I need to talk to Stark."

Mike gave her a look, seeming to ask if she was sure. She nodded the affirmative, and Mike disappeared into the room. "Big brother?" Stark asked, rubbing his jaw.

"You know it."

"And your name ain't Angie?"

"Maria Angela. You ever walked down Myrtle Avenue on a summer day? Everyone and their mother is Maria. Most of the girls from the old neighborhood go by their middle name." She paused. "What happened after I got shot?"

"Peg shot Dottie. Damn Commy didn't expect you to be a fighter- that stab wound dazed her enough that she didn't put up a fight. They were shippin' her off to DC for more questioning. I got pulled in for questioning too, though it was more of a formality at that point. It's good to be a free man again."

He paused, almost uncertain. "Listen, I _am_ sorry for not comin' sooner. Wasn't sure you'd want to see my ugly mug after everything. But Peg said you were being discharged today, and she wasn't sure if you'd need a ride. I got my car up front, if you want a ride back to your parent's…"

Angie snorted. "You think I'm going back to my parents? Please, like they know this all happened. They'd never let me leave the house again. Mike and I were gonna take the bus back to the Griffith. But I'm not stupid enough to pass of a free car ride."

"How about free drinks?" Stark asked, with a smirk.

She laughed. "You're pushin' your luck, Cousin Eustace."

"Aw yeah? How 'bout this?" He leaned down, kissing her briefly. It took her by complete surprise- both that she enjoyed it, and that Stark hadn't pushed for anything more than a peck on the lips.

She paused before responding, watching as his face grew more worried, wondering if he'd offended her. "Angie I'm—"

"You've got a death wish doing that ten feet from my brother," she said with a smile, heading back towards her room. Before she opened the door, she paused.

"I'm out of commission for the next week or so," she said. "But I got a dumbwaiter you can hide in if you want to pay me a visit."

"You got it sweetheart," he replied, pulling the door to her hospital room open so they could finish packing.

_Note to self: find out what days Miriam does the grocery shopping._

* * *

**Thank you all so, so much for reading. I'm excited to get any feedback you might have- I live for constructive criticism. Also, mad props for reading this ridiculously long story haha. Best wishes - Jac **


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